Project S: Origins
by Irith Ayllistira
Summary: You look at what he does in the present, but you don't know what was done to him in the past. And in the end, the destiny of everyone is strangely intertwined. Cloud's life was always parallel to his own. The beginning of the Project-S compilation.
1. The Man in White

**(You should read now the author's note at the end of the chapter)**

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Project-S

The Origins

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**The Man in White**

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_"I will sing alone_

_And then shadows will come_

_But if others join me_

_Darkness will back away in fear."_

The child sang softly those verses. His words echoed through the hall, creating exquisite patterns of voices, sounds and clicks. Strange colored lights were cast in the floor, momentarily coloring the boy's clothing as he passed by. A tall man in a dark suit was leading him through the corridors of metal plate. The man didn't say a word since he took the boy from his tiny bedroom. With a quick order, the boy got up from his dirty bed, closed the damaged book he had been browsing and accompanied the man without saying a word. He knew that when that tall man gave him orders, he should obey, or would suffer the consequences later.

"_The mad man will be there_

_Dressed in white, eyes spinning around_

_The mad man will be there_

_Waiting for me."_

"I've told you, a thousand times" the tall man said to the boy. "Don't whistle that song around here. Do you want to be punished?"

"No" was the boy's quick reply. He lowered his head, looking at his torn leather shoes. He tried to find a pattern in the way that his shoelaces bounced around, but could find none. Then, he counted the number of metal plates beneath his feet. He counted 10 plates five times, because he didn't know any number above 10 - no one taught him mathematics or the alphabet. After all, the boy was only four years old. Almost five, though.

The boy lowered his voice to a tiny whisper, as if wanting to sing to the walls around him.

"_Needles, pinches, stings and sticks_

_Vaccines, tests, lights and screams_

_Iron, steel, mirrors and push_

_Push, push, push the life away."_

The man suddenly turned around, crouched, and slapped the boy in the face. The child fell to the floor, his small palm grabbing his cheek. A tear formed at the corner of his eye.

"Are you mad?" The man asked, pulling him to his feet again. He was so strong that his fingers left a red mark on the boy's bony wrist. "Who taught you that song, after all? You're singing it all the time as if you wanted the devil to come beat you out. Do you want to get _him_ mad? Is that what you want?"

The boy said "no" and looked at the ground again. It was that kind lady who taught him that song. She said that the song "calmed her down" and "made her feel accompanied with friends." The boy always thought she was lying. The more he sang the song, the more he knew he was alone in that world. Everybody was tall, strong and scary. Everyone dressed in black or white and had serious expressions on their pale faces. They brought him every day to a big room full of monitors, counters and weird tools, carefully organized in the countless shelves that crossed the walls. And then the mad man dressed in white would laugh to himself as he analyzed a couple of sheets of paper. The whole laboratory was monochromatic, a whitish, pale look, that burned the youth's eyes. No child had to face such lack of color.

"Come" the man said, opening the door and pushing him inside the laboratory. As soon as the boy entered, the monitors on the walls turned on, reflecting a range of pictures of him in different angles. The scientist was sitting on front of a computer, his glasses slipping from the tip of his crooked nose.

"My boy!" he exclaimed, rising from the chair. Then he glanced at the man who had been leading the boy. "Turk. You may leave." The scientist's back curved in a defined arch, his neck looking exquisitely long, and straight. His greasy black hair was arranged in a messy ponytail, and the boy could see the dirt beneath his long nails. The scientist approached him. "How do you feel today, little one?"

"Normal." The child answered. He was about to reply _thank you_, as everyone told him to do in front of grownups, but then he remembered that he actually hated the man. The scientist observed him a little longer and then pointed at the iron table on the corner of the room. "Lie there, my boy, will you?"

The child walked to the table, a droplet of sweat running down his temple. That table scared him. When he lied there, a strange mechanical arm would lean on him, putting a strange helmet on his small head. Then the pain would come, and faintly the boy would see strange diagrams on a screen. The scientist would laugh while looking at those strange diagrams and would write on those sheets of paper that he always carried around.

Resigned, the boy lied down on the table, and his wrists and ankles were immediately tied by mechanical straps. He looked at the plates at the ceiling and one more time he started to count them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 plus 1, 10 plus 2, 10 plus 3…

"So, let´s begin our session." The mad man said, approaching the table. Those sheets were once again with him, and the man was writing so quickly that he seemed like his black pen was flying over the paper. The scientist darkly chuckled as he plugged some cables with a little needle on the tip to the boy's arms and legs. The child felt the needle penetrate his skin, a thin, sharp pain. The man backed away and sat on a rotating chair, holding his notebook.

"The 156th session. Let's see if I have some results today."

A mechanical arm rose from below the table. On its tip hang a strange helmet made of iron and intertwined with red and blue cables. The boy remembered the pain that that object caused. He swallowed dryly in anticipation. The scientist looked at the boy with a faint smile and then started to write his report.

"Subject name: Sephiroth."

Yes. That was the boy's name. It was fun to think that he found difficult to write his own name. They only taught him how to write a, e, i, o, u, t, p, f and s. Whenever he tried to write his name with a piece of charcoal, it would end up like "Sepiot" or "Sefiot". The boy found that really disturbing. Although he didn't have much contact to the outside world, he knew that people could write their own names. If they had the right to know how their names were spelled, why didn't he?

He observed the scientist, his face changing expression as he read the different topics.

"Age: Four."

"I'm almost five" the boy quickly added. The man didn't reply. Sephiroth insisted: "I'm almost five. It will be my birthday in November."

"Yes, yes." The scientist said. "I know you're almost five. Now, what have you eaten for lunch?"

"…A boiled egg. And half a carrot."

The scientist nodded, with a smile. He looked pleased.

"But I'm hungry" Sephiroth added. "I thought that maybe you could give me one of those nice meals that I see grownups eating."

The scientist looked annoyed. "Boy, can't you understand that you can't eat too much? Or else, your sugar levels will collide with the mako in your body, and I don't know what'll happen then."

He then spoke to himself in a low voice: _you are the living being who contains more mako within its body._ He composed himself and looked at the young silver-haired boy with displease.

"Now will you shut up please, and stop interrupting me?"

The boy shut his mouth tight until his lips formed a thin, white line. He waited for the scientist to finish his report. He knew that then he would have to put the strange helmet and the pain would come, provoked by what seem to be a thousand sharp needles, burying in his skull. But the man in white continued writing his report.

"Today is… the 23rd of October. Yes, yes. Levels of sugar, cholesterol and blood pressure are normal, aren't they? Yes, yes, they are. So, let's see if everything is doing as it should. Do you mind to put that in the top of your head? Yes, like this, my boy, very well. You're getting accustomed to this, aren't you? It's like we're family already!" and the scientist exploded in a burst of laughter, followed by a dark and low chuckling. Sephiroth ignored the man, and continued his work on counting the plates. 10 plus 4, 10 plus 5, 10 plus 6… However, he only counted until 20 plates because after that, his vision was so restricted by the strange helmet that he couldn't see anything else. He waited for the pain to surge, and closed his eyes shut. The only thing that came to his head was the soft song he was singing back in the corridor:

"_Needles, pinches, stings and sticks_

_Vaccines, tests, lights and screams_

_Iron, steel, mirrors and push_

_Push, push, push the life away."_

Sephiroth never knew if the man heard the song, but the pain surged in his head, as if a hammer crushed his skull. The boy hadn't the courage to scream anymore, so he bit his tongue until he felt blood on his mouth. His fists were clenched tight and all his body was stiff due to the unbearable pain. If it wasn't for the sharp humming playing inside his head, he would swear that the scientist was laughing with joy.

The pain endured for what seemed like an hour (however, we will never be sure about the true time of his pain, because at the time, Sephiroth didn't know what were seconds, minutes or hours) before it ended suddenly. His wrists and ankles were released and the helmet rose from his head through the mechanical arm. The boy got up immediately, feeling the sweat tickling down his brow and sliding down his cheeks and neck. It had hurt more than usual this time.

"Very well, very well!" the scientist exclaimed. "It's perfect, just as I wanted it to be." He chuckled again. "Very well, my boy, very well. I'm surprised you got these results so early."

Sephiroth watched the scientist as he rambled about "being a master-genius" and whatsoever. His movements were so enthusiast that the boy was getting scared. Would he be exposed to more pain? And a growing pain, perhaps?

"You have been taking the pills I have been giving you, haven't you, kid?" the scientist asked, looking at the monitors as if it contained the universal truth. "Yes, I know you have, or your mako levels wouldn't be so high. Nor you Jenova Cells. Yes… there's a big percentage of Jenova cells in your body… My dream has come true, and the project is successful. When you grow, every scientist in this damned world will bow before me. Bow before my genius, bow before my abilities. And then they say that Gast is better than me. Cruel and unfair world, this one.

Sephiroth blinked. Mako? Jenova Cells? Those were names he had never heard before. "How higher?" he asked innocently. The scientist frowned, his brow wrinkling.

"You have about 340% of the mako energy contained within a SOLDIER's body! And… and your cells…. They reached very high levels… I don't want to mention numbers, but… perhaps two millions of cells have spread inside your body in the last 6 months. I am a genius, yes, yes, I am a genius!"

Sephiroth was puzzled. Jenova Cells? Mako? SOLDIER? And 340%? Was that a number much higher than 10?

"Who's Jenova?" he asked abruptly. The scientist looked at the boy amused. His lips parted, but no sound came. Then he laughed.

"Oh my boy, I can't tell you now. But I promise that one day I will answer that question. You may leave…. Take those pills I gave you, everyday, before sleep and after breakfast. They should stabilize your mako levels."

Sephiroth got up and exited the laboratory, his head mingled into a mess of confusion. He heard Hojo's laughter ringing in his head.

* * *

Sephiroth was sitting on the top of his bed. His room was incredibly small – he could almost swear it was a cell for criminals. But throughout time, Sephiroth started to feel at home whenever he was between those metallic walls. At the side of his bed was a pile of damaged and torn books. He couldn't really read the words so he would spend a lot of time inspecting the pictures of the book. Unluckily, all the books he could find throughout the building were books with pictures of cars and other vehicles, mostly in black and white, and without a pinch of color. They weren't really interesting, but the boy would have fun trying to copy the pictures to the last pages of the books with his piece of charcoal.

On the other side of the room, a small mirror hung on the wall. It was broken at the corners and Sephiroth could only see his reflection if he climbed his bed. Then a pale face would be in front of him, and piercing, emerald eyes, filled with curiosity would be fixing his own. His silver hair was short, his small bangs covering the forehead. There was a time when that mad scientist shaved all his hair because Sephiroth ate more than necessary at dinner. The boy swore that day that when he grew up he wouldn't cut his hair ever, ever again.

In his small hand was one of the pills that the scientist gave him. It glowed in a blue-greenish light. Sephiroth swallowed it whole and felt it sliding down his throat. That would "stabilize his mako levels", as the scientist told him. Then the boy laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Those pills always gave him stomach ache.

Sephiroth knew it was going to be a long night.

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_**Author's Important Note:**_

_**No YAOI.  
**_

_The Project-S will be a compilation of Sephiroth's life, in a parallel event to Cloud's life. Of course most of it will be invented and original, but it WILL have in-game events. The first part will be called "Origins" and will cover Sephiroth's childhood and teenage, and the events that made him a 1__st__ Class and consequently general. After that, Project-S will cover the events of Crisis Core (although it will also contain original work, besides Crisis Core events) – it will be called Project-S "Revolution". After "Revolution", Project-S will cover the events of Final Fantasy VII ("The Calling") and then it will cover the events of Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children and what happened to Sephiroth while on the Lifestream. _

_No OOC. I will try to portray the characters accurately. Probably, this series will contain every character on the game. However, it will be very hard for me to talk about Before Crisis plot, because I haven't played the game. However, if I find it necessary, I will indeed read the plot and do my best._

_I would love if you would support me on this big project I have in mind. I think Sephiroth is a great character and he deserves a piece of fiction that makes readers understand what he has been through. Also, Sephiroth is the main character of this fic, but all of them will be involved without great transformations, and their personality will remain truthful to that in the game. _

_Cheers to all of you guys!_

_~Irith_


	2. JENOVA

Project-S

The Origins

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**J.E.N.O.V.A.**

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There was a kind woman that always brought Sephiroth's meals to his small room. She would leave the plate next to the door when the boy was on the laboratory. Sometimes, when she found him inside his room, she would sit on the floor, watching him eat his piece of bread and vegetables. Then she would smile, and the boy would watch that expression with a slight frown, probably puzzled at the woman's apparent amusement.

But as the months passed by, the boy realized that the woman was the only person that really cared about him. When Sephiroth was six-years old, he started to consider the woman a friend (although he wasn't really sure about what was a _friend_) and sometimes he would even smile in her presence. After all, she taught him how to count to 50, and she even taught him how to write his own name. He found later that after all she wasn't an old lady – she told him that actually she was young. But Sephiroth merely had contact with women, and couldn't really distinguish their age, so he always thought that the woman was actually an old lady.

"An old lady?" she said, laughing. "Last week was my 21st birthday, my dear."

Sephiroth blushed. He hated to make mistakes. He always thought that when he made a mistake people would laugh in his back.

"I am six. But soon I'll be seven" he stated, with a serious expression. "I'm getting older and older and then I will eat mashed potatoes and beef and no one will cut my hair ever again. And I will live in a big room and I won't have to take those awful pills every day."

The woman smiled bitterly and sat in the bed next to the boy. Sephiroth had a small book on his lap with the words "Wutai – The Civilization beyond the Shorelines". Of course Sephiroth couldn't read those words – that was a very tricky title for him! But he was having fun looking at the charcoal pictures of small people wearing strange and long robes. He had found the book near the sink of the bathroom – the red cover caught his attention, and he immediately hid the book inside his coat and ran back to his room.

She took the book from the boy's lap and held his hand. "You were never curious about my name, little Sephiroth" she said, her eyes shining. Later on life, Sephiroth would learn that that shine was pure pity. "Don't you want to know my name?"

The silver-haired boy looked at the woman numbly. "Does it matter?" he mumbled. "I don't even know my parents' names. Do I even have parents?"

She nodded, looking at her feet. Then she said: "Everyone has parents, honey. Even you have parents. You have a mother, and a father. But… but your mother died long ago, when she gave birth to you. And you father… your father died in the war. Death is an unfair subject."

The boy nodded absently. He then glanced at the woman. "What's your name?"

"Elmyra."

Sephiroth nodded again, his eyes glimmering at the sight of a distant memory. Then his hand clenched into a fist as he found his face reflected at the small mirror on the wall. He looked at his own eyes- they were strange colored eyes, almost with a life of its own, as if they were ponds where the wind constantly created soft waves. They were of a deep green – the color of emeralds, and of the humid grass of the plains. But the child never saw emeralds, or had the opportunity to touch the soft and humid grass of the plains. Nor he had the chance to look into eyes as green as his own.

It was from that day on that Sephiroth started interiorizing that perhaps he was different from other people. At first he didn't even thought twice about the subject – after all, there were a lot of pretty things in life to care about. But then, as the years passed by him, he would look at the mirror once, twice, thrice, and that idea of being different from others would bury within him like the root of a big and ancient tree.

"And my parents' names?" he asked.

Elmyra sighed softly and lifted the food's tray from the floor.

"You mother's name was… Jenova. Yes, Jenova. Now I must leave, if you don't mind, sweetheart."

Sephiroth watched Elmyra as she left the room with the tray on her arms. He heard the _click_ of the door and then his little room fell in silence. With a sigh, he stretched his arm to grab the book that the woman had taken from his lap. The red cover was soft and luxurious under his skin. He opened the book at half and looked at the picture drawn on the right page.

It was a sword. Yes, a sword. He knew it was a sword because he was always seeing swords. Everyone carried one around. A sword or a gun. Men defend themselves with weapons – that was something we was told all the time by the mad scientist that loved to make him suffer. But the man in the suit also told him that, and he carried a small, pristine gun everywhere. But Sephiroth didn't have a weapon, nor had Elmyra. Does that mean that they were unprotected and evil could harm them? Sephiroth didn't mind to be harmed – the scientist was hurting him all the time. But he didn't want to see Elmyra being hurt. She was really nice to him so why should he want for her to be in danger?

He looked at the picture again. A man dressed in armor was holding the blade in his hands – he was really tall and strong, but the sword was incredibly long – bigger than the man itself! Sephiroth observed the picture amused – the man who wielded that sword should be really powerful. Perhaps he ate mashed potatoes and beef every day, and perhaps he decided when to cut his own hair. Disappointed, Sephiroth noticed that in the picture he couldn't really perceive the length of the man's hair, because he was wearing a long cloak that covered his head. _But I know he has long hair, _little Sephiroth thought. _He must have long hair, because that means that no one tells him what to do. If he has long hair, it means that he's a free man. And to wield that sword, he must be independent. So he surely has long hair. _

And so are the thoughts of a child. Sephiroth looked at a little phrase below the picture. "Masamune" he read out loud. Was it the man's name or the sword's name? The sword's name, he assumed. He never heard of anyone called Masamune. But after all, Sephiroth didn't hear many things on his day-to-day.

The boy bit back on a desire to leave the room and consequently leave that awful place. He briefly thought that perhaps everyone was free minus himself. Why was he restricted to that room, to that lab, to those pills, to that food? Why didn't he had the power to choose what was right for him?

Then he looked at the tiny words on the left page, where the word "Masamune" appeared recurrently. And why no one ever taught him how to read?

Someone knocked at the door. Sephiroth hid the book under the pillow. It was his small treasure now – its pages contained a tiny little dream that managed to maintain him awaken to the awful world he was exposed to. He thought that if someone was aware of that little secret of his, he would have to endure more pain.

The door was opened, and from beyond, the man in the suit was fixing him, his dark eyes inspecting the boy. The scientist had called him a Turk. Sephiroth knew that the Turks were men that protected the president and the important people in the building. And sometimes people would need Turks to do the most unthinkable tasks, and they would always do it. _Because in the end of the month, they're paid well_, Elmyra had said, with a sigh.

"Come" he said sternly. Sephiroth left his bed, checking with a quick movement if the small book was safe under his pillow. Then he trotted to the man, obediently. More pain awaited him.

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The laboratory had a new scenery this time. After the pain that the strange helmet caused him, Sephiroth tugged out the wires attached to his body, finding three persons fixing him curiously. One of them was Hojo, that shifted from writing his report to glare at him. The other was the man in suit that was always leading him around the building. Sephiroth noticed the wrinkles forming around his cheekbones and across his forehead. Perhaps that man was old, in contrary to Elmyra. _How dumb I am_, he thought, blushing tenuously. _Calling Elmyra old, when in fact, she is so beautiful. This man is weak and old. That's why he has so many wrinkles and bumps on his face._

He didn't know the other man. He was sitting on the top of the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Long dark hair fell to his shoulders, and intense red eyes fixed him. For a moment, Sephiroth thought that he actually knew the mysterious man, like he had been present in a distant dream. Then, understating that it couldn't be possible, he shook the thought out of his mind.

"Your results are good, Sephiroth." Hojo told him, analyzing his notebook. "Everything is proceeding as planned. Taking the pills, aren't you?"

The boy nodded in affirmation. Hojo chuckled darkly.

"You're the filthiest bastard I have ever met." the mysterious man suddenly said. Hojo looked at him if he was looking at some insignificant bug.

"I am not finished with you yet." the scientist said torpidly "You'll get what you deserve for behaving badly on Nibelheim. Already causing trouble with your screams and grunts and making people think I have anything to do with it. Some citizens already think that a monster lives in the mansion. This will drive people away, and the population will stop believing on Shin-Ra. Do you want people to stop believing on Shin-Ra, Vincent?"

"That's one of my biggest wishes. And they're correct." The other man countered, with a twist of his lips "A monster leaves in the mansion. Inside a coffin, more precisely, sharing his room with a dozen of bats and other creatures of the underground. You should be punished by your lack of humanity, Hojo."

"You don't know what you say, Valentine!" Hojo said with a maniac laugh. "You're the one to be punished. You're the one to pay for your crimes."

"I committed no crime" he answered "I did what was right. You're the one to blame for all of this. At least leave me alone in my slumber."

Hojo laughed again. "Do not blame me Vincent. - She was the one to put that thing inside of you, to keep you alive. Blame her if you must."

"I WOULD NEVER BLAME HER!" he shouted, rising up so quickly that Sephiroth jumped. A strange, demoniac glow formed in the depths of the man's red eyes. Sephiroth swore he never saw such a terrible thing on his entire life. "I always tried to protect her, but in loyalty to you, she was by your side all the time. You shot me Hojo, you're the one to blame."

Hojo backed away, and the man in the suit advanced towards Vincent. But the man in the red cape shrugged and sat on the counter again. Then he added "I will wait for the pain if it's what's in store for me."

Sephiroth, as a 6-year old child, was feeling really confused. Vincent was looking at him with such love that Sephiroth felt embarrassed. However, the child didn't know the man – he couldn't recall anything that involved Vincent. And their conversation was so odd that the boy couldn't help but feel puzzled.

"He is just like her" Vincent continued, fixing him. "Look at his eyes, so green, like hers. Everything in his face reminds me of her."

"I can't wait to stop hear you cackle." Hojo said bitterly, avoiding Sephiroth's gaze.

"But then you infused the boy with those goddamned Jenova cells. And along with your experiments, her spirit was washed away."

The word "Jenova" captured Sephiroth's attention. Jenova was his mother, wasn't it? It was what Elmyra told him… And Elmyra would never lie to him. Had they been talking about his mother all that time? But if so, who was Vincent, and why was he so angry with Hojo?

"Jenova" Sephiroth repeated, making heads turn. Everyone fixed him. Sephiroth thought that his voice sounded incredibly low compared to the shout that Vincent gave earlier. Was Vincent a strong and independent man, also? At least he had long hair, so it probably meant that he was. For a moment, Sephiroth admired Vincent. "Jenova is my mother, isn't she? Are you talking about her?"

The long-haired man looked at him completely shocked, and Hojo cracked up in laughter. In a quick movement, Vincent grabbed the scientist by the collar and pushed him to the counter. Between laughs, Hojo tried to fight the choking. The Turk ran to help the scientist, trying to separate both men from the fight. But in vain; the man in the red cape was too strong for the other. _And he's young, also, _Sephiroth noticed.

"I can't believe you're intoxicating his mind with such lies!" Vincent shouted, his face dangerously close to Hojo's. "You told him Jenova was his mother? How could you tell him that! Staining the image of the beautiful Lucre-"

He was interrupted by the blow of the Turk's fist on his face. Vincent fell to the floor, grabbing Hojo's ankle, and trying in vain to take him to the ground. But the man in suit pulled him from the ground and pushed him to the door, avoiding his kicks and punches. Out of danger, Hojo perched his glasses on the top of his nose with a smirk formed on his lips. Sephiroth felt the scientist's hand grab his shoulder and pulling him affectionately near him.

"Can't you see, Vincent? Sephiroth is happy here, with his _family_. We're his family now. Better, we never stopped being his family. You're the one who loves to blame everyone and everything for things they didn't do. Your _queen_ chose to act the way she wanted to, and in the end she even tried to save you. If you're a monster now, with that demon inside your body, it's because of your fault. Because you shouldn't put your nose in other people's business."

"It was also my business. I loved her." Vincent replied.

Sephiroth blinked. Vincent loved his mother? He asked: "You loved my mother? Jenova?"

Vincent looked desperate.

"Love is an excuse for humanity to renew itself." Hojo said. "And no, my dear Sephiroth, we are talking about someone else. We're talking about a little bitch that dear Vincent here felt in love with."

Vincent projected forwards, trying to reach the scientist, but the Turk was holding him tight, by his elbows and chest. Sephiroth could swear he saw a tear in the corner of the man's eye. But men don't cry, he remembered. Independent man, capable of wielding Masamune weren't able to cry. He was just being absurd.

"Yes, dear Sephiroth. Jenova was your mother. A great loss to us all, when she died. Yes, yes." Hojo had a big smile on his face. Vincent's face, on the other side, was twisting with hopelessness. "Take him, Turk. Put him in a cell and bring him later. After I'm done, prepare a truck with a jail for Nibelheim. Be sure that he cannot escape."

Sephiroth saw Vincent again. Oh, yes, he did. But it was many years later.

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_**A/N: Read and review please :) **_


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